


It's a Green Card Thing

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Musicalbabes, Universe Alteration, beetlebabes, bit of dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: Beetlejuice gets what he wants, but not in the way anyone expected. And now, Lydia has to deal with the part that comes after the wedding: the wedding night. But she's safe right? After all, it's only a green card thing...
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 143
Collections: Beetlejuice x Lydia Challenge - It's a Green Card Thing!





	It's a Green Card Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Our most generous queen of the beetlebabes offered up this prompt and I was happy to oblige. And because I'm thirsty for attention, it's getting posted now instead of later. Hope you enjoy. (Btw it's not stated but I usually hc Lydia as about... 17 in most fics so if it's not stated to be otherwise just go with that)

It hadn’t worked. She’d come back, convinced him she was in love with him, that she wanted to bring him to life so they could be together, and it _hadn’t worked_. For gods sake, she’d _kissed_ him to try and get this to work. And something had happened, there had been a blinding flash of light, something definitely seemed different, but Beetlejuice was still inarguably dead. Still had that same sallow, corpsey complexion. Still had moss growing in his hair. Still had those golden eyes uncharacteristic of any living human beings, except maybe someone with jaundice. But no, he didn’t have a pulse, wasn't visibly breathing. He was still dead. And oddly enough, _he_ didn’t seem bothered or even surprised by this.

“I… I thought you were supposed to come to life,” Lydia stumbled over her words, still speechless. How was she supposed to murder someone if they were still dead? How was she supposed to get rid of him now?

“Hmm…” Beetlejuice made a show of thinking about it, “I don’t recall ever saying that, do you?”

“W-what?” Lydia felt her temper bristling, “Yes, yes you did!”

“No…” Beetlejuice said, “If I recall correctly, I said that I was tried of being alone, and that life was the only way out. _Your_ life, specifically. Then I said that if you wanted to save Barbara I would need you to marry me, which you did. And then, when all you guys were busy losing your shit, I did remind everyone that it was a green card thing; as in, I get residence in the living world by being married to you. No more invisible, no more name curse, no more _nothing_. I’m as free as a bird, without all the limitations of being alive.”

“But I-” Lydia argued, “You-”

“Let yourself be played,” Beetlejuice tugged at his lapels and then dusted them off, “I never said, by marrying you, I would come to life, now did I? _You_ made that assumption, and let me guess? That’s what you were counting on weren’t you? That I’d come to life? Be mortal just long enough to stab me in the back? Probably literally, knowing you you little minx,” he smiled at her, “Gotta say, good plan; too bad it didn't work, now isn’t it?”

“I- You-” she’d been duped by him, again. She thought she’d finally had one over on him. Then again as she now looked back on it, it _had_ been a little too easy to make him believe she was in love with him after literally jumping into Hell to get away from him. Had his original resistance only been a token one to see how far she’d go with her charade? Had he just been gauging her the whole time? Lydia felt like such a fool now. And much like any teenager would, Lydia’s mature response was to let out an inhuman sound of anger, frustration, and embarrassment and storm back up to her room.

The others looked around, unsure of how to proceed. None of this had been what they expected it to be. Nothing had gone according to plan. And here Beetlejuice stood, once again holding all the aces. Except, he didn’t seem to have any plans on doing anything with them. Or maybe he didn’t need to, after all, he’d already won. Adam stood holding Barbara, less the demon try anything again. He’d been a nuisance when chained to the world of the dead. There was no telling what he was capable of completely unshackled like this.

“So…” Adam began hesitantly, “What now?”

Beetlejuice glanced at him, “Dunno, don’t particularly care. Way I see it, I won, you lost, and now; I’m off to go enjoy some well-earned freedom! See ya suckers” and with a cackle and a pop, he was gone.

Was that good? Was he gone for good? Or would he be coming back? What would it mean either way? Was Lydia safe? Did it even constitute as safe? He was out, but they were married, his freedom was proof enough of that. But what did that mean for Lydia? In the eyes of the mortal world she was unmarried, unattached, but what about the Afterlife? What about the laws of the dead? Would she ever be able to live a normal life? Or would her tether to Beetlejuice keep her from having all the things she should have had? All the things you always wanted for your child? No one knew. Beetlejuice himself probably didn't know. He’d left the handbook though, maybe it would have some answers, some suggestions, or at the very least it could point them in the direction of someone who did.

Lydia was still sulking in her room hours later. Though, it wasn't for lack of trying to get her to come out. All her parental units had tried at some point or another, but Lydia would not be swayed. She lay face down on her bed, a pillow scrunched up under her arms. She hadn't even bothered to change out of her wedding dress. And that was how Beetlejuice found her. He popped into her room, undetected even after following up on the Maitlands and the Deetzes and watching them tie up the mirror lines trying to undo what had happened. Ha, fat chance of that. He was out, plain and simple, and nothing would be putting him back. Not so long as he had little Lydia as his bride. Even so, he honestly hadn’t expected her to be this upset about losing. Usually she wasn’t the type to get mad, or sad, she was the type to get even. And to be frank, he thought she might have enjoyed that little twist he’d given her. Then again, most everyone he’d ever talked to said he was only funny so long as he was happening to someone else. That might have been it. Nah, they were best friends, so what if he’d had to twist her arm a little, she wouldn’t hold that against him.

“Hey babes,” he greeted, touching down next to her, “Seems like we’ve been having fun since I left. Or at the very least, the losers downstairs have,”

Lydia spared him one glance from a curtain of hair in her face, “Go. Away.”

Okay… maybe she was madder than he’d thought she’d be. But he really didn’t understand why. She should have known he’d pull something like this. She certainly knew him better than anyone else. Chalk that one up to three days alone and unsupervised in a house perhaps, but it was more time than most people could stand spending around him so it counted as knowing him in his eyes. And because of that, her reaction to all this seemed completely blown out of proportion. Should he maybe have tried a different method of convincing her to marry him? Perhaps, though he hadn't been able to think of a single method of proposing that would have led to a likelier outcome of her her saying yes. And in the world of the dead, the ends always justified the means. That was just how it was. And since she'd been there already, she should have known this to be the case.

“Oh come on babes,” he huffed, folding his arms as he looked at her, “Are you really mad at me? Or are you mad at yourself for falling for it?”

“I said, leave me alone, Beetlejuice,” Lydia turned away from him, shooting a, “Don’t you have some freedom you could be enjoying right about now?” over her shoulder.

“Yeah… well…” he scratched at the back of his head, “Scaring the shit out of yuppies ain’t as fun without my good ol’ partner in slime,” he put on what he hoped was a winning smile. When she refused to react, or even so much as look at him he huffed again, “I really don’t get why you’re so fuckin’ upset. It was only a green card thing,”

“You say it like it’s over and done with,” Lydia turned on him, “But if I recall correctly, in order for you to stay free, _we_ have to stay married. _I_ have to stay married to _you_! And you don’t see anything wrong with that, at all?”

“No,” he snorted, “Lydia, calm down,” he put a hand on her shoulder, “It’s a green card thing, strictly business.”

“Business? Business!” as her temper rose so too did her voice. Lydia stood up on the bed and looked him in the eye, “Does this seriously look like just business to you? I’m trapped in a loveless marriage while you get to go out and do whatever the fuck you like and no one’s life gets ruined but _mine_ , all because you couldn’t hold up your end of the bargain and come to life so I could kill you!”

He watched her rage with an exceedingly calm face that only irritated her all the more. And the final nail of the coffin was when he asked in the most condescending voice, “You done?”

Done? Done? She was far from done. But what good did it do to get mad at him? He was clearly unapologetic, unrepentant, and uncaring. He’d used her, he’d gotten what he’d wanted, he’d won. What was the point of being bitter over it now? It’s not like it would change anything, it wouldn’t even make her feel better because even if she lashed out at him, he wouldn’t be hurt by it. She couldn't even get the catharsis of making someone hurt the way she'd been hurt. The Maitlands and her father and Delia, yes they were upset, but it wasn't the same. Lydia’s anger and her energy deflated, and she sank back to the bed, sighing.

“What do you want now?” she asked sullenly. She was just so tired. After everything she'd gone through she felt far older than she was and yet younger for allowing herself childish naive hope. Still trying to pick up the broken pieces of what had once been her world. And now... now she'd promised she'd make the best of being flesh and bone, but how could she possibly do that when she was now some stupidly powerful pervert's meal ticket to a world he longed to join but could never really be a part of? They didn't even _love_ each other, which frankly, seemed like such a small thing in the grander scheme of things, but simultaneously so large. And if what she had read about the sort of magic the whole being dead thing was likely apart of, there was no undoing what had already been done. So what was the point of complaining?

When his response to her question was to simply chuckle, it only served to annoy her further. Damn him for being able to get under her skin like this, "What?" Lydia asked, tone harsh.

“I just find it kinda funny, don’t you?” Beetlejuice remarked, sticking his hands in his suit pockets -he hadn’t bothered to change out of his wedding attire either, not that he could ever really be bothered to change period- and rocking back and forth on his heels, “Here your folks are, trying their damndest to work their way through the handbook and “save” you, and you’ve already sped through your seven stages of grief. I’m impressed;”

“I’m not going through the seven stages of grief,” Lydia remarked, “I just know that it’s a waste of time and energy trying to make you understand where the line is between hurting some stranger and hurting your supposed best friend and why you should feel bad about doing what you did.”

“Well maybe if that best friend hadn’t _ditched_ me,” he offered helpfully. Lydia wanted to bring up that it had never been her intention to ditch him. But what good would it do? Mom was dead and gone and hadn’t even come to her when she’d been in the abyss of nothingness, calling, begging, _pleading_ for her mother’s embrace. And Lydia had accepted that. She’d resolved to make the best of the life she’d been given, and since that now included being a demon’s wife by legal definition; well what the hell? Even so, accepting that and making the best of the situation didn't mean she had to be enthused about it by any means.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “Me missing the one parent I thought cared for and understood me was the problem. You did nothing wrong, your reaction was totally justified there pal.” she sighed, letting her fingers curl over the soft edge of the expensive memory foam mattress and squeezing, “You still haven’t answered my question by the way, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Well,” he shrugged, eyes glancing down at her bed then back to her meaningfully, “It _is_ our wedding night after all…”

“Hell. No,” Lydia deadpanned, folding her arms at him. Were this anyone else she wouldn’t have believed he would think she’d be down to have sex with him, especially after what he had pulled. As it was Beetlejuice however; she was disappointed, but not really surprised.

“Why not?” he countered, looking genuinely put out at her denial, “We're already married anyways! Isn’t this like one of my conjugal rights?”

“No, no it’s not,” Lydia shot back, venom slowly replacing the blood in her veins. This fucking prick. While she wasn't surprised that he was horny and would try to take advantage of their marital status that didn't make the fact that he was trying to do it any better.

“Oh come on,” he groused, “If you’re still sore about the whole wedding thing, don’t be. I could have married anyone with a pulse, it’s not like you’re special.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors here,” Lydia said icily. Any lingering affection she might have held for him was just about gone now, since he seemed to only be viewing her as a fucktoy. Had she treated him somewhat the same before, teasing him and goading him into doing things she _knew_ he derived sexual gratification from? Perhaps, but _she_ also wasn't the one who was trying to make a business marriage more than what it was. Besides, that begged the question of why he'd been all pissy about it in the first place. But she honestly didn't care because all he did was lie anyways.

“Wasn’t trying to,” Beetlejuice snorted, “Besides, I want sex because I’m fucking horny. I’d fuck anything just about now,”

“Well then go fuck yourself,” Lydia suggested, “Because you’re not fucking me.”

“Wouldn’t want to anyways,” Beetlejuice shot at her petulantly, like a child being denied candy before dinner, “You’re scrawny and flat chested and the only reason people don’t mistake ya for a boy is because you wear dresses,”

“Too bad,” Lydia snarked, “You must like dick a lot, considering what a huge one you are,”

“Keep it up little girl,” Beetlejuice snarled, now starting to grow agitated at her. It had been cute at first, watching her turn her hurt feelings into cathartic rage directed at just about everyone and everything. Revealed a couple of interesting kinks he was pretty sure she didn’t know she had. But now that she was for all intents and purposes his? No, she was gonna have to learn when those pretty pouty lips of hers needed to be zipped. He gestured to the crotch of his pants, continuing his statement, “And this huge dick is exactly what you’ll be choking on,”

“Oh please,” Lydia scoffed, “You’re nothing but a damn dirty liar, and I bet you’re lying about that too.”

“Wanna bet?” he was getting more into this than he thought it would be. Or maybe it was the idea of making good on his threat that kept him from being as insulted at her jab at the family jewels as he should have been.

“Spare me,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “You’re not laying one grimy finger on me and that’s that.”

“And why do you seem so sure of that?” she truly was adorable when she thought she was holding the cards here. But she seemed to have forgotten he was out, unshackled, and restored to full demonic power. Oh well, he had plenty of time left in the night to wipe that smug little smirk on her face and replace it with something infinitely more appealing.

“You said it yourself,” she smirked evilly, “It’s a green card thing,” she quoted him directly, “Which means we don’t need to have sex and if you’re going to hang around you’re going to sleep on the floor so I can step on you when I wake up in the morning. We got married, you’re free. That’s it, our marriage was strictly business and now that business is done.”

He chuckled lowly, “That’s right,” he smirked, “It _is_ just business, but our business ain’t done until we consummate this union.”

Her eyes hardened at him, “Get the fuck out of here before I scream,”

Beetlejuice bent down and met her glare head on, “Go right ahead,” he told her, “I like it when ya scream,”

“Will you like it as much when I bring the wrath of the Maitlands and my parents down on you for finding you in here?”

“Oh wow,” he shot back at her, completely unimpressed or intimidated by the threat, “The Maitlands and a buncha useless flesh bags, I’m shaking in my goddamn boots,” he made a show of quivering exaggeratedly. Then he snapped his fingers, sending a wave of magic around the room, “You wanna scream Lydia? Go right ahead, ‘matter of fact,” he snapped his fingers again and her wrists were suddenly stretched over her head. She tried to pull them back down but they remained locked in place though nothing seemed to be holding them there, “Why don’cha scream _and_ struggle? Not like ‘nyone’s gonna come ‘n help ya anyways. Go ahead, scream yourself hoarse, wake the damn dead, wriggle until those pretty little wrists chafe, ‘s not gonna bother me one fuckin’ bit. In the meantime,” he added, juicing the skirt so it rose higher and higher, “I’m just gonna have a little... _fun_ with my new wife.”

“Why are you doing this?” Lydia hissed at him through clenched teeth, yanking ineffectively at the magic that kept her bound. She tried to hide the hurt, but it came through anyways. She'd pissed him off too much at this point though for him to really care.

“Why not?” he smirked cruelly at her in response, “After all, it’s just a green card thing,”

His attention was immediately distracted by the fact that she’d was not dressed nearly as sexy underneath the skirt as he would have imagined. C’mon, the girl had ball gags in her underwear drawer and plain white cotton was the best she could do? Lame, but slightly adorable. Still, it was his wedding night… another snap and the wedding dress was gone, replaced by a ton of lace and tulle and honestly why had he bothered to change her clothes when she probably would have retained more modesty not wearing anything at all? Lydia immediately clenched her thighs together, more out of instinctual reaction than anything else. Seriously though? Blood red covered her, tulle and satin and lace. Stockings and garters and a stringy thong, as well as a pushup bra which why bother with if his plan was just to strip her down anyways? Then again, he was a showman, presentation _was_ half the effort here. And how could she forget the veil that itched against her back? Well, at least the fingerless opera gloves eased some of the chafing of her wrists, which she still couldn’t move. Beetlejuice made a show of looking her up and down and then clasping his hands together and gasping in surprised delight,

“For me sugar? Y’ _shouldn’t_ have!” he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “”Specially since it’s just a green card thing,”

He was fucking with her. Trying to get a rise out of her. And more than likely trying to do so because it was easy for anger to turn into passion. Lydia wasn’t an idiot, she’d read her mother’s bodice rippers that the other woman hadn’t even tried to hide. The best way to react, was not to react at all. That was easier said than done when his fingertips lightly skated along her exposed flesh, not going straight for her tits, ass, or any other body part she might have assumed he’d go for. Nah, he was just… touching. Arms, shoulders, stomach, thighs. And damn her if she wasn’t feeling just the tiniest bit of goosebumps. He had to be doing this on purpose, he wanted her to forget she was upset with this very not okay situation by making it feel good. She wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t going to fall for it.

“Y’know,” Beetlejuice began conversationally, hopping onto the bed and laying on his side as he continued to slide his hand over her, propping up his head with the other, “It’s too bad… really is a damn shame. You’re prettier than I thought under all that black.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Lydia asked, forgetting her own rule not to encourage him. It was just too easy to think of zingers to throw, “Because you’re terrible at them,”

“”M terrible at most things babes,” he informed her, still petting at her like she was a cat, “And as for the things I’m good at… well, you’ve already seen one, and the other…”

“Some not so subtle way of saying you’re good in the sack, really?” Lydia raised a brow at him, “As if tactless references to your alleged sexual prowess are gonna make me forget I’m stuck here against my will in tasteless slutty lingerie while you ogle, fondle, and grope me you damn demonic pervert.”

“Oh please,” Beetlejuice scoffed, “Gropin' n' fondlin' is for people who are going to have sex. Which we are not doing, because this is just a green card thing. If it weren’t,” he added thoughtfully, “I’d be doing way more than simple touching. I’d be all over my partner, ‘specially one looking like a drop dead knockout.”

“Right,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “The day you’re able to satisfy anyone is the day Hell freezes over,”

“Hell’s already cold, remember?” Beetlejuice reminded her, “So I’d say you’ve given me a self-fulfilling prophecy there,”

“Damnit,” Lydia swore, unable to beat the logic there. And, for once, unable to think of a comeback. Beetlejuice didn’t seem any further inclined to continue the conversation, contenting himself with simply running his fingers around on her stomach. Which, in itself was sort of frustrating. Especially since she expected a pervert like him to be molesting her six ways from Sunday in a getup like this. But no, he just made mindless shapes in the middle of her torso, never skirting too high or too low. In a way, it was almost… frustrating. And both the room and his touch were cold, so she found herself covered in goosebumps suffering from the occasional uncontrollable shiver. Soft humming met her ears, and a quick glance revealed him to be totally entranced with the flesh of her stomach. What the fuck was this?

“Seriously?” she couldn’t help but ask, “You have me here, trussed up like a damn present with everything except the bow, and you’re just sitting here, rubbing my belly?”

“Well what do you expect me to do?” Beetlejuice asked her, “We’re just friends, and this is just a green card thing, remember? I’m not gonna do anything to someone in a green card marriage.”

“Nothing except put them in slutty lingerie and magic their wrists to the headboard,” Lydia muttered under her breath. But as the gentle, even platonic touching continued, she felt… teased. Like she was being shown something but not all of it. Looking at an image through frosted glass. And hey, no one had ever accused her of being good at thinking of anything except immediate gratification without considering the long term consequences. So… “Hypothetically…” she began, shifting a little as a blush rose on her cheeks, “If you were with someone who… wasn’t a friend, in a situation like this… what _would_ you be doing to them?”

The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, showing off a glint of the supernaturally sharp incisor. There was the bait. But was he being baited, or was she baiting herself?

“Well, now that _is_ an interestin’ question,” he acquiesced, “See… if I was with someone I _could_ fuck, well, there’s just about nothin’ I wouldn’t be doin’. Maybe start out slow, see how she likes a kiss or two,” as he spoke he dropped a kiss on her hoisted up shoulder, “Not on the lips at first, ‘course, since ya gotta take your time with these things,”

Lydia let out a breath of laughter, “And here I thought you were the wham, bam, thank you ma’am type,”

“Time ‘n place for that sort of thing,” he tutted, “Time ‘n place for slow goin’ too. Delayed gratification n’ all that.”

“So… kisses huh?” Lydia rose a brow at him, “Anywhere else you'd be putting them?”

“Plenty,” he assured her, pressing more soft kisses along her flesh. She was a little too cold, better fix that. Magic transferred from his lips and fingers, leaving trails of lingering heat in their wake. Lydia shuddered against him, letting out a soft sigh as he trailed from the edge of her bra up along her sternum and collarbone, dipping into the curve of her neck.

“So…” she panted, “Just kisses on the body?”

“Well, of course not,” Beetlejuice countered, “What’s the point of having a partner if ya can’t give’m a kiss?” his hand cupped at her cheek and leaned in, lightly brushing his lips against hers. There had been a kiss at their wedding, a way of sealing the deal of course. But he hadn’t really gotten to enjoy it. It had been more for show. But here, with her trussed up like a present all for him? He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she moaned softly into him, arching her body. Someone had taken the bait. Who it was, however, didn’t matter. Still, he couldn’t help but be a little smug. Lydia’s words meant nothing, she could say she was angry, she could claim she hated him, but her body would betray her every time. The truth of the matter was that she was a sick, twisted bitch. A sick twisted bitch who had a deep-seated desire for some demonic fornication. A kink which he was more than happy to indulge.

He broke apart and she panted a little, drawing in breath. Her face was flushed, eyes glassy, her chest was heaving, straining against the decorative bra, and her tongue darted out to swipe over her swollen lips. He wanted to bite them. Taking a breath, Lydia looked at him,

“You're trying to seduce me, aren't you?” She asked him.

He let out a faux scandalized gasp, placing a hand to his chest in mock offense, “Me? Seduce _you_? Perish the thought! You're my best friend, and this is just a green card thing, remember?”

“Right,” Lydia drawled, “So you gonna let me go then or…”

“I mean,” Beetlejuice continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “If I _was_ gonna seduce you, I’d be doing things like this,” and here his hand roved to one of her breasts, squeezing lightly, “Or this,” he added, thumbing at the hardened peak through the rather flimsy fabric, “Or this,” and then his hand slipped down her body, just brushing over the silk of the thong around her hips. Her hips jerked up, seeking the contact and that was when he pulled away, “But I'm not seducing you, because this is just a green card thing.”

“Green card thing,” Lydia panted, “Alright, fine, green card thing. Now let me out of this,”

“Oh babes,” he chuckled, “I'm afraid I can't do that,”

“Why not?” Lydia’s eyes narrowed, “Aren't you supposed to be my friend?”

“Of course I am!” Beetlejuice insisted, “And that's what you wanted isn't it? You wanted friends, well, _this_ is how we do friendship in the Netherworld,”

“You lying piece of sh-” her insult was cut off as he kissed her again. Riling her up was really too much fun. And now that she'd had a taste, she was far more pliable. He moved his tongue against hers, slinking down her throat while his hands occupied themselves with freely groping her.

“Hands,” she gasped, “Please free my hands Beej!”

When she was begging like that, how could he say no? With a snap she was free, pulling at his lapels and dragging him down on top of her. Lydia’s lips were molten against his own, her mouth hot and wet and oh so wonderful. He'd stirred her enough that she wanted this, even if she’d never say it. But then, neither had he. Her hands roamed, over his shoulders, past his face; pulling, at his clothes, his hair, everything she could reach. By the time he realized what was happening again he was cradled between her thighs with his jacket, shirt, and bow tie hanging from his frame. And somewhere along the line, her bra had been undone, revealing those gorgeous perky tits of hers.

“Fuck,” he breathed, because goddamnit this was one of the most beautiful knockouts he’d ever rocked the bed with in his long, long paradoxical unexistence. He instantly grabbed for a handful, running his thumb over her nipple. Lydia arched against him in response, brushing right up against the part that was so desperate for her attention. He bit down hard on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, putting a mark on her.

“Did you,” she breathed, “Just _bite_ me?”

“I feel like you've told me to do that on more than one occasion,” Beetlejuice countered, “And I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't comply now would I?”

Lydia shot him a glare that might have been intimidating were it not for the lustful glaze to her eyes, the rosy flush to her cheeks, and the fact that she kept rubbing herself against him, “Funny,” she deadpanned, “Real hilarious,”

“I thought it was,” Beetlejuice offered, “Now, can we get back to whatever this is? I _do_ have some freedom to enjoy you know,”

“And god forbid we don’t let you enjoy the… _benefits_ of your ill-gotten green card,” Lydia rolled her eyes, but her hands were already discarding scraps of clothing, her bra, her gloves, the veil, and the clothes above his waist.

Both of them naked from their hips up, they reached for each other again, kissing and nipping and sucking as they undulated against one another. The friction was good, but it wasn’t enough. Hands went for the scrap of fabric on her hips, one yanking it away while the other immediately dove in to explore the newly revealed territory. Wet sounds resounded between punctured gasps and low moans of pleasure. Beetlejuice toyed with her clit, plucking at it with his thumb while two other fingers made their way inside her. Lydia clutched him closer and closer, clawing at his back as she panted and writhed and groaned. Too much, and not enough. Harder, faster, deeper, using unholy magic to bring about unholy satisfaction. Green card or not, this was his bride, and he was determined to show her why he held the prestigious title of ghost with the most. Lydia wound, higher and higher, tighter and tighter, never having expected anything good to come out of tying herself to the moldy pervert with his fingers inside her. But as the heat built, burned, raged, and reduced her to cinders she wouldn’t say she was disappointed at being wrong. Then again, it was hard to say anything at the moment, with the pressure _just so_ , the clench and undulation and the sensation of sweet icy relief against her burning flesh. Kisses and bites and the sound of sucking against her skin, coupled with the whispered sounds of praise and soft groans of his own at her reactions was much. Too much. She broke. With a drawn out wail, Lydia Deetz broke apart under her green card husband's hands.

He savored the moment of satisfaction. Hatred was a passion, anger; the same. He may not have understood the feeling of emotions, but he understood how quickly they could change. Besides, Lydia had never hated him. She hated that he’d made a fool of her. Her ego was hurt, not her precious little feelings. His murderous little psychopath. Correction, his _insatiable_ murderous little psychopath. Because no sooner did her eyes begin to flutter with regained consciousness then her hands went seeking him out. Trailing down his icy flesh, pulling at his belt, delving down his pants and _fuck_ that felt good. Normally he would have gone down on her, wrung two or three more orgasms and mounted her only when he was sure she would lose her mind. But, he’d met her while she was seriously considering jumping off a roof to solve her problems with her distant daddy. So… probably wasn’t much left of her mind to lose anyways. Whatever, he’d still fuck whatever was left of her brains out anyways.

“You know something Beetlejuice,” she began conversationally, though her tone was husky as her tongue swiped over swollen lips, “Even though you’re still dead, there’s something you really need to learn about life,”

“Oh yeah?” he teased, looming over her as he kicked off his pants, “And what’s that?”

“That in life, schmucks like you don’t get lucky breaks,” Lydia’s voice was hard, but her eyes were devious and her breathing seemed less like she was trying to catch her breath and more like she was trying to catch his already undivided attention with the way it caused her breasts to move, “In this world,” she continued, “If you want something,” and here she grabbed his cock and gave it a few strokes, “You have to _work_ for it.”

It wasn’t the most romantic way of saying “fuck me now” he’d ever head. But given his basis for comparison was pretty much entirely reserved to “fuck me now” he supposed there was nowhere to go but up anyways. Besides, she could have said get the fuck away from me and it wouldn’t have stopped him so really… what was he thinking about again? He looked down at Lydia with her adorably frustrated expression, looking at him expectantly while her thighs were spread as wide as she could manage on her own. Oh yeah, fucking the hot goth chick the way he’d wanted to since he first clapped eyes on her trying to impale herself on a birdbath. Beetlejuice grabbed a hold of himself and placed his head against her dripping entrance, with a hiss and a suctiony pop, he was in. If he’d thought the heat of her mouth was molten, then this was a live caldera. Fuck, tight, and hot, and wet. He took it slow, if only so he could savor every last inch engulfing him, every second of violating her most sacred of places, of sullying her soul the way she wanted it to be. Her mouth could spout as many lies as it wanted, the way her body welcomed him, craved the dead flesh and the depravity told the truth. Words could lie, actions seldom did.

When he was fully seated within her, he paused yet again, then repeated the motion just as slowly in reverse. The way her muscles fought, clinging to him, pleading without words for him to stay. It was intoxicating. He felt like a god. But of course, even a god could succumb to a demon’s urges. Slow savoring was for those with a heart. He relished the conquest, not the sentiment. And Beetlejuice was determined to prove it. A quick snap of his hips and he was back, sheathed within her like a sword to a scabbard. Lydia groaned, low, a sound equal parts pleasure and pain. He belatedly wondered if she was a virgin. He hoped she was. No one would ever compare to him after the hell of a performance he was about to put on. Even if she hated him after this, he would make her crave him. She could hate him all she wanted, so long as she kept wanting him to come back. The ravenous beast that lurked deep within the core of what he was slowly stirred, urging him faster, harder. Ruthlessly conquer, spill the blood, take no prisoners, leave no hope. But he was not so far gone that he had forgotten what had prompted this in the first place.

“Now Lydia,” why he felt it important to use her name, he wasn’t sure. A name normally held more importance and intimacy to him than simple nicknames, but hopefully she would take it as part of the game. Not that it mattered, since he decided now was the perfect time to leave dark purple bruises all over her alabaster skin while he made certain she wouldn’t be able to walk come morning at least, “Don’t get it twisted,” he snarled, panting like an animal, like a breather though he really didn’t need to, “We’re just,” he picked up the pace, “Friends. And this,” he delivered a particularly violent slap of his hips against her pelvis, “This is jus’ a green card thing.”

Lydia was long past the point of really caring about the original pretense that had led to them fucking. Her hands reached, roamed, nails clawing him, clutching him tight. But, always the competitive one she refused to let him have the last word on it. And the more into the fucking she got, the louder and filthier she got. Her moans were practically wails as she egged him on, “Yeah, get that green card you fucking monster! Work for it! Harder, HARDER! _Ah_!” she commanded as she writhed and undulated against him. It was the last coherent thing she managed to get past her lips, aside from profanities that only spurred him on further. He was a monster, a beast, an unholy abomination from the absolute depths of hell. But he was hers, and she was his psychopathic murderous little bitch.

Tensions wound, springs coiled, pulled, snap. When they broke, they damn near broke something else. Perhaps the taboo between them. The idea that death was something to fear, cold and callous and always controlled. But it was as wild and chaotic and unpredictable as life itself. Life and death were one. Two sides, one coin. Lovers who sent gifts and kept them. Lydia’s drawn out wail, sounding like a goddamn banshee undid him completely. To the point where he felt himself losing coherent form for just a moment. He collapsed on top of her and only barely summoned the mental energy to roll off to the side before he killed her and they couldn’t do this again. Almost as an afterthought he juiced himself up a cigarette and took a drag on it. Human emotions were foreign to him, but he understood the whirling thoughts that might cause them. While smoking did nothing for him physically it was almost meditative in a way. Take a drag, watch it burn, watch the ash return to nothingness.

Lydia rolled over and placed a hand against his naked chest, shivering a little. With a snap they were covered with the blanket, and her heard her lazily murmur something he couldn’t make out.

“What’cha thinking about?” he heard her ask a moment later.

If there was ever a time he could be honest, he supposed now would be it, “How fucking glad I am I married you,” he told her. When she didn’t immediately retort or otherwise respond he nudged her, “What about you kid? Thinking about how awesome it was to get nailed by the ghost with the most?”

“Something like that,” was her noncommittal answer. And naturally his ego wouldn’t let it go there.

“C’mon babes,” he jostled his shoulder where she’d chosen to make her pillow, “I wanna hear ya say it. Give a guy his proper dues,”

She laughed humorlessly but said nothing. Was he fishing for compliments? Maybe, but it wasn’t like they were entirely undeserved. He knew how good he was already or else he wouldn’t be so cocky. He just wanted to hear her admit it. After a solid minute of bothersome behavior, she relented and spoke,

“Don’t flatter yourself Beetlejuice,” Lydia said even though every sign she was giving off spoke of that acerbic sarcasm of hers. That and one of her hands was snaking down to his hips which meant she clearly wanted to do it all again. Meanwhile the other arm braced itself so she could look him directly in the eyes. She flicked her tongue out against his lips as she cheekily added, “It was only a green card thing,”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you all next time Netherlings!


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